


A Fistful of Acorns

by ForAllLove



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And Of Course Acorns, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Happy Goody, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced OC Death, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Not Goody's, One (1) Pun, Parenthood, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Smitten Billy, Tenderness, child oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForAllLove/pseuds/ForAllLove
Summary: October, 1880: With a new season comes change, and with new life comes someone new to share it with.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squishy_TRex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishy_TRex/gifts).



> Thanks to [28ghosts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts) and [Nopholom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom) for their beta work.
> 
> Stephen King is an outlier adn should not have been counted

There were few days that Billy loved more than the ones he spent riding with Goodnight, endless roads carrying them through woods and fields and deserts with only the sun and the birds for witnesses. Conversation meandered after thought; thought turned as easily to touch. They had all the time in the world.

After Rose Creek, they were especially careful with that time.

They rode in shorter stretches these days. Goodnight could not sit a horse for long anymore, so they rested whenever they pleased, walking or playing or napping in the shade. It came as a surprise this year when the early nights and lazy mornings took a turn for the colder. Soon the comforts of a town would outweigh the freedoms of the open road. They had dallied too long to be particular about their wintering place — the next town, or the next. There would be a saloon, maybe a restaurant or a library if they were lucky, and whispers and judging eyes and Goodnight a respectable distance away. Billy wasn’t looking forward to it.

But they were still a day or two out into the wilderness. The sun still shone. The horses’ tack jingled merrily. The air was crisp and smelled of sweet earth and spicy evergreens. Billy had his overcoat unbuttoned. Birdsong rose and fell in counterpoint with Goodnight’s pretty words. It was the sort of day that Billy wanted to drink in to keep him warm through the winter.

So drink he did — of the sunlight caught in the grey in Goodnight’s beard, of his voice like well-worn leather, of his funny little smile when he noticed Billy watching. Billy thrilled as though they were new again. There was nothing more beautiful than his dearest friend full to bursting with joy, with _life_ , and here Billy had a second lifetime to walk beside him. Goodnight took this opportunity to continue talking. Billy ducked his head and laughed.

It was now, of all times, that he realized they were not alone. Huddled under the low-swooping boughs of a cedar was a small child.

“Goody—” Billy shook their joined hands. “ _Goody_.”

Goodnight’s gaze wavered over him before following his attention into the woods. “Oh,” he breathed. “Do my eyes deceive me or has an angel fallen to earth?”

Billy was already easing off his horse.

The child watched from the cover of his tree. In case he’d never seen a person of Billy’s sort, Billy hunkered down a little ways away and mustered a smile. “Hey.”

The poor little thing was mostly dirt. He looked more cold than frightened. Billy wished for a moment that Goodnight could come down on his own, but hearing him wanting to spurred him to hold out a hand to the child.

“Are you out here by yourself? Can you come out?”

Unsteady as a fawn and nearly as shy, the child tottered towards him. Cupped in his smudged hands were three acorns. He offered them to Billy.

“Thanks,” Billy said. He tucked the acorns into his pocket. The child was still staring at him with solemn brown eyes. “…Animals eat those.”

Goodnight snickered. Billy twisted on his heel to show him how he wasn’t helping, but Goodnight’s attention was fixed beyond him. His smile had half-fallen into awed softness. “Billy, _look_.”

There was a touch on his shoulder. He turned. The child shuffled into his arms.

Billy held his breath, screwed his eyes shut, and gingerly drew the boy to his chest. The tiny hands burrowing under his lapels were trembling. “ _Gwaenchanha_ , it’s— it’s okay. Look, someone wants to meet you.”

Goodnight was wiggling in his saddle by the time they approached. “Hey, there, sweet thing.” The child peeked out from Billy’s coat.

Billy patted Goodnight’s knee. “This is Goody. He’s all right.” After another peek, the child reached for Goodnight. Billy delivered him into delighted arms.

“Aw, little acorn,” Goodnight crooned as he wrapped the child in his overcoat. “What are you doing way out here? Poor cold darling… There must be a house around here. He can’t have wandered far.”

* * *

The road forked after a dip in the land; they followed the smaller path down to a cabin nestled amongst the trees. The horses began to shy near the edge of the clearing. Goodnight turned the child’s face into his coat. “Billy…”

Half-eaten though it was, the carcass in the underbrush was unmistakably human.

* * *

The cabin was in good repair, with a small lean-to barn that housed a few cantankerous chickens. The child’s family had already laid in supplies for the winter. The mother was buried out back; it was too late in the day to dig a grave for the father. Warming and feeding their baby was the priority.

Billy came in from bedding down the horses to a cheerful fire and warming water. He let Goodnight handle bathing the child while he set rice to simmer. The acorns he laid on the mantel, near the family Bible. _Jacob Crane_ he could read, and _Abigail, nee Hawley_ , but he brought the Bible to Goodnight for the little boy’s name. Goodnight was quiet for a long moment.

“Cornelius,” he said at last, with great feeling, “I am so sorry.”

Cornelius, clean and wrapped in a blanket to dry, didn’t seem to mind his name.

Goodnight, however, was rapidly turning pink. “Billy — _Acornelius_.”

* * *

“Why doesn’t he talk?”

“Well, he’s too young,” Goodnight murmured, smoothing Cornelius’s sunny curls. “Aren’t you?”

Cornelius petted Goodnight’s beard.

Billy wondered which of them would fall asleep first, and if either would be awake by the time supper was ready. He stirred another egg into the _juk_.

Goodnight settled Cornelius a little higher on his chest and started to sing one of Billy’s favorite songs.

The next time Billy looked, Goodnight was watching him, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. He smiled, slow and sweet. Cornelius reached for his gold tooth. “Hey, now,” Goodnight laughed. He caught the grasping hand and kissed it.

* * *

Cornelius settled into his trundle bed without a fuss. It was the first time Goodnight had let go of him since they’d arrived.

“I am delighted by your inability to speak to children,” Goodnight said as Billy led him by the hand to their own bed. He tugged his hand free and went hunting for the pins in Billy’s hair.

Billy turned in his arms and cupped his face, shaking him gently. “You talk enough for both of us.” The way Goodnight was gazing at him — reverently, as though gazing would be enough — set his hands to wandering.

Goodnight’s pants were already unfastened. He needed to let them out again. _I’ve gone to seed_ , he’d bemoaned soon after he’d learned to walk on his own, but Billy thought it suited him. He squeezed his waist. Goodnight giggled and squirmed away.

Billy scrunched his fingers into Goodnight’s shirt to keep him close. It was cornflower blue. He missed the soft old grey one.

“Goody,” he pleaded.

Goodnight smiled so prettily that he felt warm down to his toes.

With gentle kisses from lips just beginning to chap from the cold, with his moustache tickling where it caught against Goodnight’s, with scarred skin warm beneath his fingertips, Billy let his eyes drift shut. His hair tumbled loose into Goodnight’s hands.

* * *

Billy awoke in a bitter draft. He squinted. Goodnight was hunched over the side of the bed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m stuck,” Goodnight wheezed. At least someone was good-humored.

Billy wriggled closer so he could rub the cramp out of his hip. Goodnight was already shivering. It wasn’t long before Billy sat up, ignoring the pulls in his own muscles, and slotted in behind him. They lay back together, Goodnight coaxing his legs to bend and Billy supporting him.

“Oh, merciful heaven,” Goodnight whimpered when he was finally flat. He was still laughing. “What a lovely pair we make.”

Billy stroked his hair where it curled behind his ear.

* * *

In the morning, Billy began to dig Jacob’s grave. The spade wobbled in his grip. He changed leading hands several times before giving up and trying to roll the stiffness out of his shoulder. He was winded so easily now.

Goodnight brought Cornelius out when the grave was knee-deep. Goodnight wanted to help, but once he climbed down into the grave, it was difficult for him to get back out. Cornelius played happily the entire time; it was Billy who was cross.

Before he went inside, he scrubbed his hands in the creek until they flushed red.

* * *

Billy was in the bell tower. Goodnight tumbled into the graveyard below.

He woke in tears.

Billy’s breath came in quick, shallow heaves. Goodnight was snoring softly beside him. He clutched at Goodnight’s long underwear with one fist and pressed the other against his own brow, as if that could quiet the tumult within him since Rose Creek, when he had come to and Goodnight had not, not for a long time.

Something rustled across the room. He turned his head — he could barely make out the little white shape of the baby padding towards the bed. “What’s the matter?”

Cornelius sniffled and held his arms out for Billy.

Billy caught him up and hugged him tight. Cornelius whimpered against his neck. The nonsense Billy was cooing to soothe him burst louder as a sob tore free; Goodnight mumbled something questioning. Billy rolled so that Cornelius was tucked between them, where he could hug both of them close.

* * *

Billy opened his eyes to dim sunlight and Goodnight’s sweet face. They reached for each other, Goodnight to draw them together and Billy to stroke the creases fanning from the corner of one sleepy blue eye.

Cornelius was still nestled in his arms. Billy tucked his little nightgown more snugly around him. He slumbered on. Goodnight curled around them both, nuzzling onto Billy’s pillow. “Good morning,” he whispered.

Billy tipped his head and kissed him, hand spread over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I once met a tiny boy who gave me a fistful of acorns. I hope his name is not Cornelius.
> 
> Gwaenchanha (괜찮아) - It's okay  
> Juk/Jook (죽) - Porridge made, in this case, of rice and eggs


End file.
